The Healer's Heart
by BonnyLass
Summary: What might Frodo have been up to in the months before the first movie started? And who might he have been involved with?
1. Stormy Night

**Chapter One: Stormy Night**

[Author's note: this is mainly based on the movies, with a touch from the books. I'm not much of a fanfic writer, but this has been running around in my head for a while, so I figured I'd give it a whirlIt starts slowly, so please bear with me. It does contain an original character (although, I don't personally believe it is a Mary Sue in the traditional sense), so if OC's are not your cuppa tea, best skip it. 

Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they belong to the Tolkien estate, New Line Cinema, yada, yada, yada.]

Heavy snowfall is rare in the Shire, even in the dead of winter, but for the past hour, a thick veil of snowflakes had obscured the outside world beyond my window. Even rarer was this kind of fall at this time of year, near March's end, when spring is just starting to think about throwing off the mantel of winter. Rain, perhaps, or sleet was more likely. But here it was, the kind of thick, snowy day where one wants nothing more than to burrow under a warm blanket in front of a crackling fire with a mug of hot cider, and a good book to keep one company. Alas, I was not to be so fortunate, as the sound of heavy pounding interrupted my simple pleasures, and with a weary sigh, I headed to the front of my home.

Upon pulling the door open and being greeted with a gusty wind of freezing cold that rushed across my face and chilled my bones, I was shocked to see what appeared to be a snow-covered apparition before me. I grasped its arm, and pulled it in, shutting the door swiftly behind it. The figure began unwinding the wraps around its head, dropping bits of snow on my front hall with every movement, and I saw that it was dour old Hamfast Gamgee, who at least had the grace to apologize profusely for the mess he was making.

"It's that sorry I am to be making a muck of your floor, mistress, but it's Mr. Bilbo himself what has sent me." He grimaced as a bit of snow from his collar slid down the back of his neck, and I reached for a nearby cloth to mop what was left from around his face, while he continued talking. "Thankee. Young Master Frodo has a bit of the chill that's going about, and Mr. Bilbo begs your pardon, and asks if you might be willing to brave the ill weather and take a look in on him." Hamfast raised his eyebrows questioningly, though he likely already knew what my answer would be.

"Aye, Gaffer, you know I'll come," I said calmly. "Give me a moment to gather my things." I paused, and thought for a moment. "I expect the weather is too foul to ride Cherry?" I had a small pony, given to me for services rendered by a farmer on the outskirts of Frogmorton, two years past. Cherry was a placid, bay-colored pony with a reddish splotch on his left flank, which I can only assume was the source of his name. I rode him regularly, traveling to the outlying towns, and his surefooted travel sense had often gotten me home on late nights after a long birthing, when I was too tired to stay awake in the saddle.

The Gaffer nodded grimly. "You can't see your hand in front of your face, and we'll need to walk close to thar fence to avoid losing our way. Yon pony won't be much help in that." 

I bustled about, gathering together my things, and shoved my large covered basket into his hands. "Without Cherry, I'm afraid you'll have to be the one to carry my medicines, Gaffer." I began layering on jackets and neck scarves, until finally I was boiling under the weight of it all. "Let's go before I melt away from the heat of all this." I yanked on my gloves, pulled the door open and marched out into the bitter wind, with the Gaffer right behind.

It was chillingly cold outside, and after only a few minutes, my bare feet were numb and stiff. I wished for a moment to be one of the Big Folk, who it's told wear coverings upon their feet, even in warm weather. Why they would do so when the grass is green and soft to one's toes, I can't imagine, but in coldish weather like what I was walking through, it suddenly seemed highly desirable.

The Gaffer and I struggled on through the wailing wind and blowing snow, with the fence he had spoken of close on our left side. It was only a two or three mile walk to Hobbiton from my home in Bywater - a nice stroll of less than an hour or so in summer, but during the height of a snowstorm, it took quite a bit longer. After two hours of walking, the sense of relief I felt at seeing the lights of the nearby small town was near overwhelming. 

I followed the Gaffer up the winding road that was Bagshot Row, and stood impatiently at his side as he pounded upon the green front door of the house at the top of the hill. It was immediately opened, and the master of Bag End stood before us, quickly gesturing for us to come out of the cold.

"Come in, come in!" he cried, and pushed the door shut with a bang behind us. "Dreadful weather, dreadful. Who'd have thought we could have a snowstorm at the end of March? Here, Mistress Brockhouse, let me help you with that." With swift hands, he helped me unwind myself from the web of scarves that were frozen and entangled about my face and neck, and then led me towards the fire in the parlor, pushing me down in a seat in front of it. 

"Warm yourself in front of the fire. Frodo can wait a bit longer. 't'wouldn't do to have you fainting on the poor boy," he chuckled, and then bustled back to the Gaffer who was standing by the front door. "Will you be staying, Master Hamfast? No? Well, I thank you greatly for this service, and shan't forget it anytime soon, I surely won't." After ushering the stolid gardener out the door, Bilbo hurried past me to the kitchen, calling back, "Not to worry, I have some tea on. That'll do to warm you up quickly enough!" 

I took a moment to glance about the parlor I was sitting in, having never had the opportunity to visit Bag End before this night. It was a well-lived in room, with books and maps scattered about the nearby table, and comfortable chairs placed around the fireplace. I could imagine that Bilbo and his nephew spent many a pleasant evening in here, reading and discussing all manner of things. I gratefully wiggled my toes in front of the roaring fire, pleased to still have feeling within them.

Bilbo came trotting back into the room, with a small tea tray, complete with sandwiches and small cookies. "Drink, drink!" he cried, pressing a warm cup of tea into my cold hands. A sip of the soothing beverage made it clear that there was more than just tea in what he had given me, and the warmth of it slid down my throat, instantly filling my belly with fire. I cocked an eyebrow at the older Hobbit, and expressed my thanks. 

"Not to do, not to do," he murmured. "It's my fault that you had to travel through such weather. I would never have sent out Hamfast if it had been snowing like this when he left. Well, there's naught to be done about it, as you're here now, and I thank you greatly for that. Frodo started feeling unwell just yesterday, and it's gotten rapidly worse. I'm likely worrying overmuch, but I love the lad dearly, and want him well again."

I nodded. "I will do what I can. It's a nasty cold going about, especially dangerous for the older folks." I swept a glance at him under my eyelashes, while taking another hasty sip of my tea. Here I was, speaking to one of the oldest Hobbits in recent memory, and yet he looked hale and healthy, and several years younger than he ought. 

He merely smiled at me, and then leaned forward slightly, as if examining me more closely. "What is it?" I asked in surprise, glancing at him.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said settling back. "For a moment there, you reminded me greatly of your aunt." 

My face burned upon hearing that, and I looked down at the teacup within my hands. It was a well-known secret within the Shire that Bilbo Baggins and my aunt, Camellia Proudneck, had had an ongoing relationship that had lasted for years until her death three winters past. They had been discreet, of course, and much latitude had been allowed them by the gossiping biddies in the surrounding areas, due to my aunt's widowed state, and Bilbo's avowed bachelorhood. 

Flaunting an affair was one thing among Hobbit society, and would quickly earn you censure and outraged stares, but quietly arranged liaisons were commonplace among those that were unmarried, both young and old. They often led to the more permanent state of marriage, and were viewed indulgently as a part of single life by the majority of Hobbits, so long as they were kept private. Indeed, much of the traffic within my own small apothecary related to the purchase of contraceptive aids, and there was a great deal of usually good-natured gossip about town that centered around who had entered the shop, and why they might be there.

My aunt having such a relationship with the Hobbit who now sat before me, twinkling eyes and pleasant smile notwithstanding, was too strange a thought, though, and I stood up hastily, setting my teacup down with a clatter on the nearby sideboard. "I'd best look in on your nephew now."

He jumped to his feet. "Of course, let me show you the way." Bilbo led me towards the back of the burrow, and I paused to grab my large basket which had been left by the door. Bag End was a luxurious Hobbit hole by most comparisons, going deep under the hill, with thick wooden walls, and polished tile floors. It was dark in places, as such places tend to be; we were underground, after all. But it had a pleasant, homey feel, and I could sense that many happy generations had grown up here within its honeyed walls, among the good clean scents of earth and grass. 

Bilbo paused before a door, and knocked gently before opening the door. "Frodo?" he said softly, peering in. 

A slight, hacking cough answered him, and a voice replied, "I'm awake, Uncle." 

Bilbo pushed into the room, motioning for me to follow. I stepped in cautiously, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Frodo's room was of a decent size, with a single bed placed against the right-hand wall, and a small fire on the opposite. Unlike much of the rest of Bag End, it appeared to be exceptionally tidy, especially for a young Hobbit; a response, perhaps, to the chaos of the rest of the burrow, and the upheaval that had occurred already in his short life. 

"Frodo lad, this is the healer, Mistress Brockhouse, come to take a look at you and get you back up and about," Bilbo told his nephew, before turning to me. "Do you need anything from me?"

I thought for a moment. "If you could start some water boiling, that would be a help. And do you have any peppermint leaves? I fear I've run out, and it's both an aid in healing colds, as well as helping to mask the flavor of certain medicines." There was an annoyed snort from the nearby bed, which I chose to ignore. Hobbits, as a rule, especially the male ones, can be contentious about taking medicine, and there have been more times than it bears thinking that I've had to enlist the help of a female relative or two to assist in pouring a draught down a recalcitrant patient's throat. I hoped that wouldn't be necessary this time, as there was a decided lack of female relatives about to perform such a duty, although I suspected Bilbo himself would do in a pinch.

Bilbo nodded and said, "I'll see what I can find." He exited the room, leaving me alone with the younger Hobbit. 

I turned toward the fire, and using the poker, stirred it up to increase the light. "I'm sorry about this, but I need more light to see what I'm doing." I seized a candle from above the mantle, and lit it as well.

"That's all right," Frodo said quietly from behind me. "My uncle worries too much. I'm really not that sick."

"I'll be the judge of that," I said sternly, holding the candle above my head, and looking him over. Before me sat a handsome young Hobbit, much older than I had expected, just exiting his tweens and on the cusp of adulthood. Curly brown hair tangled in a mass about his delicately drawn face, and even now, he brushed a few untidy locks out of his eyes as he gazed back at me. He had soft pink lips and large blue eyes that I suspected many a lass in Hobbiton and Bywater had been sighing over for years. Those eyes were especially bright with fever now, and his face was pale and wasted with the sickness that was racking him. I laid a cool hand on his forehead to gauge the fever's strength. It was high, and his skin burned to the touch.

I placed the candle on the table beside Frodo's bed, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Give me your hand, please," I said firmly. Holding two fingers against his wrist, I checked his heartbeat, which was strong and healthy. Demanding next that he stick out his tongue, I held the candle close to his face, and looked down the back of his throat. It was red and raw from coughing, and a gentle massage of the glands in his neck showed them to be swollen from infection. Standing, I went to where I had left my basket. I pulled out a long wooden tube, shaped like an ear trumpet used by the deaf. It had been made especially for me by one of my patients, to my exact specifications. 

"What is that?" Frodo asked, as I carried it back towards him.

"It's for listening to your lungs. Now, sit up straight, and off with your shirt, please." He stared at me in surprise, and then complied, blushing slightly as he did so. I had a sneaking suspicion that the nearby young lasses had gotten no farther than sighing over this young fellow, more's the pity, and then pushed the thought quickly away. He was well-formed, though, with a wiry strength in his arms and upper chest. A little fattening up would do some him good, though, and I made a mental note to mention that to his uncle. 

I placed one knee on the bed, and leaned forward. "Breath in and out deeply, please. This may feel a little cold." Placing the ear trumpet against his chest caused his flesh to shiver and his nipples to grow hard. I tore my eyes away from that rather compelling sight, and attempted to focus on his breathing. Definitely congested, and he was having difficulty breathing; if not taken care of, it could turn into something worse. 

Pulling back, I looked down on him. "Well, you're well on your way to developing a healthy case of bronchitis or pneumonia if you're not careful." Frodo's eyes widened and I hastened to reassure him. "Not to worry, though. Your uncle got me here in time, and if we lower your fever, and do something about that cough, we should knock this out of you in no time." I dumped the ear trumpet into my basket, and heaved it up by its handles. Giving him my most reassuring smile, I told him I'd be back in a little while. 

I found Bilbo puttering about in the kitchen, making a late supper for himself while a small pot of water bubbled merrily on the fire. He glanced toward me while slicing the bread before him, and asked, "Well? Not so bad off then?"

I shook my head. "Not so bad off, no. I'm a little concerned about the congestion in his lungs, but I have some medicines that should help quite a bit. And that fever needs to be taken down immediately." I began making an infusion of willow bark tea expressly for that purpose, and then dug about in my basket for my large jar of cherry syrup. 

"Have you a smaller bottle or jar with a lid?" I asked Bilbo, holding up the jar before me.

"Surely, surely," he replied, pulling a thin bottle with a cork out of the cupboard against the far wall. I carefully poured the syrup into the bottle, filling it full. "What's that then?" he asked curiously.

"Syrup, boiled down from wild cherry bark. It's especially efficacious at making the nasty stuff in one's lungs come flying out. You'll likely want to find some old cloths for your nephew to cough into over the next few days." I peeked at the willow bark infusion, but it wasn't quite ready.

Bilbo made a slight face, and then pointed at the steeping tea. "And this? What is its purpose?"

"Willow bark is best for headaches, and reducing fevers. I'll add the peppermint leaves in a moment, to help mask the revolting taste of it, and we'll wait for it to cool before giving it to Frodo. If the fever doesn't break tonight, you'll need to keep giving this to him."

Bilbo held up a finger. "One moment, please." He left the room, and came back with a scrap of paper, pen, and ink. "Now, tell me everything that must be done after you are gone, or I'm likely to forget."

Reading and writing among Hobbits was somewhat uncommon, and most of my instructions had to be learned by rote by the patients or their caretakers. It was a pleasant task to simply tell Bilbo what needed to be done, and have it written down, while I continued to work over the willow bark medicine.

"You know, my dear," he paused for a moment, "you are impressively knowledgeable about herbs and their uses. I suppose you have your aunt to thank for that, but have you given any thought to writing a book on the subject?"

I blinked in surprise. "Write a book? Me? Why, no, I've never thought of such a thing."

Bilbo chuckled. "I can recommend it as a way to keep one occupied on long, lonely nights, and it is truly a refreshing way to organize one's mind. My own book is only in the beginning stages at this point, but I've enjoyed every minute so far."

"Indeed. I shallgive some thought to the matter." I added the finished tea to a small tray, along with the bottle of cherry syrup, and a spoon. "I'm off to give Frodo his medicine."

"The room across from his is made up for you. The storm has gotten only worse, and I see no way that you can get home tonight," he called after me, as I left the room.

I grimaced, thankful he couldn't see my face. It was to be expected, and it wasn't the first night I had stayed in a stranger's home. Staying the night with two bachelors was a different matter, but there was no changing the situation. While my own reputation was viewed as less than spotless by some in the Shire for varying reasons, I doubted that one night spent in the Baggins' burrow could make it that much worse.

Tapping gently on the door to Frodo's room with my one free hand, I pushed my way in, and set the tray on the table beside his bed. He made a face at it, and then began coughing; wet, bubbly coughs that left him weak.

"And that's why you need to take your medicine," I commented archly. "You're not going to give me a hard time, are you?"

"No, I wouldn't dream of it." A sweet, languid smile crossed his face, and I had a sudden vision of how he might look at a lover with whom he had just spent his passion. It was a look that curled my toes, and to cover my confusion, I made a great to-do of pouring the syrup into the spoon, and chided myself internally for imagining things that weren't there.

He meekly swallowed the spoon of medicine that I gave him, and slowly sipped the tea, making only the occasional face. I pulled a chair up next to his bed, and sat down to ensure that he drank it all. Frodo managed one strangled sip after another, until two-thirds of the way through, he paused, balancing the cup upon his blanket-covered knee.

"How is it that I've never met you? I thought I knew nearly everyone in Hobbiton and Bywater," he asked curiously.

I knew this to be a stalling tactic, but was willing to play along for a little while. "I only moved to Bywater permanently three years ago, when my aunt passed on, and I took over her home and apothecary. Prior to that, I lived with my husband's family in Greenfield."

"Greenfield? But that's all the way at the tip of the North Farthing. I hear that the country there is wild and untamed, at least, compared to Hobbiton." He gulped down a large swallow of the tea, nearly finishing it.

"Yes," I said, plucking absently at a loose thread on the coverlet covering his bed. "Yes, there are wild things that sometimes roam into that part of the Shire. My husband was killed by one; what exactly, we never knew. No one saw it happen." To my embarrassment, my voice shook slightly, even after all this time.

Frodo's hand lifted, and he touched my arm gently. "I am sorry," he said, his voice low. My eyes rose to meet his, and I saw only compassionate understanding on his face. He did understand, I knew, having heard that he had lost his parents at a very early age. Our gazes held, until I suddenly became aware that we had been staring at each other for far too long, and pulled away.

Clearing my throat, I continued, "And as for why we haven't met since then, well, unless you're sick or about to have a baby, there isn't much reason to meet me." I smiled, and pointed firmly at the cup in his hand. "Now finish up, and then rest for a while. I'll check in on you in a few hours." 

He drained the cup, and handed it to me, an impish grin on his face. "I'll sleep happily, if you promise to never give me anymore of that awful stuff again." 

"I'll do my best, but no promises," I cautioned, and left the room.

*******************************************************************

The room across the hall was a mirror copy of Frodo's room, and Bilbo had apparently been busy while I tended to his nephew, as there was a small fire banked in the hearth, and a fresh pitcher of water next to the washing basin. I gave my face a good scrubbing, glad to get the feel of the wind and snow off my face. Bilbo had also even left a small tray, with a late-night snack of sandwiches and cookies for my repast. Truly, a gracious host. I ate quickly, and then with a weary sigh, lay down on the bed for a brief nap.

I woke a few hours later, and it took me a moment to realize where I was. I sat up slowly, and rubbed my weary eyes. It was time to check on Frodo, I remembered, and I crept quietly across the hall to his room.

The fire in the hearth was little more than coals, but it was enough for me to see by. I stood next to Frodo's bed, and felt his forehead. It was very hot, and I knew that rather than going down, the fever was getting worse. I relit the candle I had used before, and checked the pitcher of water on his chest of drawers. It was full, and I silently thanked Bilbo. He'd also left a pile of rags next to Frodo's bed, and I grabbed one of those and dipped it into the tepid water. 

Thus began a long night of carefully sponging his upper body, and changing cool compresses on his forehead. Frodo was unaware through most of it, only occasionally making a small sound or cough, or moving restlessly. Once, as I pressed a cool cloth against his cheek, he murmured, "Mother," and my heart ached for him. 

The night wore on, and I would occasionally peek out his door to see if dawn's light could be seen from the parlor down the hall, but it seemed slow in coming. Finally, exhausted, I sat down in the chair for a few minutes to rest, and found myself waking what seemed like hours later. Reproaching myself for being neglectful, I jumped to my feet to check on my patient, only to find him awake, and looking at me with concerned eyes.

"Well, you seem more yourself," I said, laying my hand against his forehead. "Ah. Your fever has broken, finally." I lightly touched the glands under his neck, and was pleased to see that the swelling was down dramatically. He was on the mend, then. Youth had many advantages, not the least of which was the ability to bounce back from illness with amazing speed.

"Were you here all night?" Frodo asked.

I picked up the chair, placing it back in its accustomed place by the wall. "You were very sick, and needed someone to watch over you." He coughed and grimaced, and I bent down and handed him one of the dry rags by his bed. "You'll need this soon enough," I said wryly. "Make sure you take the cough medicine regularly. I've left instructions with your uncle on how often."

"You're leaving then?"

I nodded. "You should be better soon, if you do as your uncle tells you. And if not, he knows where to find me." I gazed down at him, finding myself wanting to catch one more glimpse of those beautiful blue orbs of his. To my surprise, he leaned forward and grasped my hand, squeezing it tightly within his own, and looked up at me, his eyes full of some emotion that I couldn't quite read.

"Thank you," he said simply, and then lay back, exhausted. 

I smiled at him, and then quietly left the room. A fascinating young Hobbit, Frodo Baggins. Such fascination could prove dangerous on my part, though, and it was perhaps for the best that I would likely not be seeing him again anytime soon. With a soft sigh, I went back to the room across the hall, and prepared for the difficult journey home.  



	2. Afternoon Encounter

**Chapter Two: Afternoon Encounter **

[Okay, so it took 8 and a half pages to finish the first chapter. I never knew myself to be so wordy, LOL. I fear greatly that this story sucks quite a bit, but I find myself wanting to get it all down. Nothing particularly risqué in this chapter yet, so if you're looking for some "good" bits, you'll have to wait till the next one. 

Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they belong to the Tolkien estate, New Line Cinema, yada, yada, yada. If I could own Frodo, I would, though ;)]

Three weeks later found me in my apothecary shop, grinding dried yarrow into a fine powder. The herb was especially stringy, and I had been working at it for quite some time this morning. My arm was beginning to ache from the effort, and I rested for a moment, letting the cool breeze from the nearby open window blow across my heated face.

The snowstorm the prior month had truly been winter's last gasp, and immediately afterwards the weather had begun warming. I would soon begin my regular trips around the countryside, harvesting the much-needed wildflowers and plants for my medicines. Outside my window, I could see that the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and I found myself eager for the warm weather of summer to come. 

The soft slap of feet walking along the byway outside my window could be heard, and for a moment, I envied the person who was outside enjoying the fine weather. But I had a yarrow root to finish grinding, and I bent back to my work. I paused, though, when I heard nearby voices.

"Hey, runt. Come down from the fancy hill to speak to us commoners?" someone said. I identified the voice immediately as belonging to Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Despite being a few years my junior, he had been attempting to court me for some time, much to my dismay. I tried my best to avoid him, which so far, had done little to dissuade his ardent pursuit. I had a strong suspicion that it was my comfortable burrow and thriving business that had caught his eye, far more than any personal attributes I might possess.

Whomever he was speaking to didn't answer him, and the sound of feet continued on. Suddenly, there was a thump against the outer wall of the building.

"Didn't you hear me talking to you?" Lotho growled.

The person he was speaking to exhaled in annoyance. "Hello, Lotho." It was Frodo Baggins. I had pushed him firmly out of my mind after tending to him that one snowy night, although if I must be honest with myself, the sudden sound of his voice caused my heart to stir and my hands to shake slightly.

"You think you're so special. Living up in that fancy hole. Better than the rest of us, are you?" There were more alarming thumping sounds, as of something being crushed repeatedly against the wall. Lotho's voice turned even nastier, as he hissed, "We all know the only reason old Baggins took you in was because he likes young lads, likes to play touchy-feely with -"

"You're disgusting!" Frodo snarled, and I could hear a sudden upheaval outside, and the sound of a fist smacking flesh. "Say anything like that near me again, and you'll regret it. I mean it!" There was an instant of silence, and then the sound of feet rapidly continuing further on down the byway. I had but a moment to wonder which of the two had hastened off, when the bell on the front door jangled, and Frodo stepped into my shop. 

He seemed slightly shaken, and was breathing a little hard, but his overall appearance was greatly improved from my last sight of him. His cheeks were rosy with health, and he looked as if he had been eating well and taking advantage of the lovely weather of the past few days. 

"Frodo," I said, greeting him pleasantly. "You look much better than when I saw you last."

"I feel much better," he said, weaving his way past a low table full of dried herbs and roots. "My uncle is greatly impressed with your skill, as I was up and about within a day or so of your visit. He's sent me to get a final look over and clean bill of health." Frodo stopped before me, his gaze open and friendly.

"Has he? Your uncle truly is taking no risks with your health, then. Come on back." I led him towards a small room in the rear of the store that I used for examining patients. It had several windows to let in light, set high in the wall to prevent anyone from peering in. In the middle of the room was a table, and I patted it with my hand. "Sit down, and take off your shirt, please."

Frodo did so, with no noticeable blushes this time, and sat patiently before me, as I gently prodded the glands in his throat and underarms, and peered into his throat. 

"No coughing? No sore throat?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I've felt fine for weeks now, better than I did before I got sick, in fact. Although, it's odd - my uncle won't stop shoving food in front of me, and at the strangest times, too." He sounded confused, and a little put out.

I burst out laughing, and he joined me, a merry peal of amusement that filled the room. "That's my fault, I'm afraid," I explained. "I told Bilbo that you could do with a little more meat on your bones. I'm glad he's taken it to heart."

Frodo grimaced. "I'm going to look like my cousin Merry soon." But then he smiled light-heartedly, and my heart did a little tumble at the sight of it.

Forcing myself to focus on the task at hand, I grabbed my ear trumpet from my ever-present basket, and asked him to breathe in and out deeply. Leaning forward, I placed the trumpet against his chest, and listened carefully. Doing so required being in very close proximity to him, and I caught the scent of clean male sweat, mixed with the smell of pipeweed and fresh bread. It was an intoxicating aroma, made all the more so by the feel of his sweet breath that blew against my cheek as he exhaled deeply.

"Get ahold of yourself, Lily Brockhouse!" I commanded myself mentally, as I pulled away, and circled around behind the table. "Next thing you know, you'll be pinching his bum like Old Martin Proudfeet down at the Green Dragon does to every female under 70 that crosses his path. This lad is just that - a lad. Ten years younger than you, and no more likely to look at you then he would Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!"

I stopped in surprise as I got a closer look at his back. "What's this, then?" I asked, stooping to look closer, and running a light finger down his shoulder. He had a nasty abrasion running across one shoulder-blade, and a darkening bruise not far below it.

"That's nothing," he said shortly.

"Nothing? Is this from the row I heard outside the window shortly before you came in here?" 

"You heard that?" 

"Mmm."

He craned his neck around to look at me, and then faced forward resolutely. "Nothing he said was true. Bilbo is the kindest, most generous -"

I laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There's no need to explain anything to me. I wouldn't believe a word that Lotho said, even if he were to say the sky was blue." He chuckled, relieved. "And from what I heard, Bilbo has a staunch defender in you."

"Well-" he paused, and then glanced back at me again, his eyes twinkling. "My back may be a bit bruised, but Lotho's gone home with a black eye and muddy britches. I think he came off worse in the end, myself."

I snorted, and then turned towards the nearby sideboard, where I had a bowl of water, and some oft-used medicines. "I'd best clean this and bandage it for you." I gently wiped the cut with a damp cloth, and then spread a salve of comfrey and burdock across the wound. 

Asking him to stand up and extend his arms, I placed a cloth against the cut, and then standing before him, attempted to tie it into place. Shoulder wounds, front or back, are often among the most difficult to bandage, and the cloth kept slipping out of place. Frodo watched my frustration mount, an amused smile playing about his lips. I very nearly had it at one point, when he shifted his body slightly, and the cloth and the bandages tumbled down. 

I hissed in annoyance, and started again. Finally, everything fell into place, and I began winding the bandages over his shoulder and back; our bodies were nearly touching, as I reached my arms behind him to pass the wrappings around. "Please stand still, and don't move, there's a dear boy," I muttered against his chest.

"I'm not a boy."

I froze, and then unable to stop myself, raised my eyes to meet his gaze. His face was but inches from mine, and the panicked thought ran through my head that his eyes were not just blue, but the perfect shade of an evening sky just as the sun is setting. My breath caught, and we both seemed to be rooted in place, not quite touching.

The sudden sound of the bell on the front door recalled me to myself immediately, and I stepped back, confused and blushing. Calling out, "I'll be there in a moment," I walked behind Frodo, and tied off the bandage. "There, you're finished, then," I said briskly. "You seem to be in fine health now. I'll just go out and help whoever's here," and made my escape. 

Letty Boffin was waiting in the shop, come to pick up her grand-da's rheumatism medicine, and I industriously set myself to putting it together for her, grateful to have something else to focus on. As I finished wrapping her package of herbs, Frodo strolled out from the back, and nodded pleasantly to Letty. He waited until she had paid and left, before approaching the counter behind which I stood. 

"Good day, Mr. Baggins," I said, striving for calmness. "You'll let me know if that shoulder troubles you?" I did not look at him, but focused my attention on the ledger before me, as I entered the details of the recent purchase.

He was quiet for a moment, and then softly replied, "Indeed I will, Mistress Brockhouse. Thank you for seeing me." Frodo paused, as if about to say something more, but thought better of it. "Good day to you." 

I watched him leave the shop, and then breathed a sigh. Of relief? Frustration? Sadness? Truth be told, I think it was a bit of all three. My feelings had been stirred more in one afternoon than they had in years, and I wasn't wholly certain it was a feeling that I liked. It would be best, for the sake of my sanity, if Frodo Baggins stayed healthy for some time to come.

[Lotho isn't in the movie, but there's no reason he can't be in the story, right? He's actually only about 4 years older than Frodo, and I always pictured him as being a bit of a bully when young. And we all know he didn't much grow out of it]


	3. Of Poetry and Dandelions

**Chapter Three: Of Poetry and Dandelions**

[Just a sweet, short chapter, leading up to the big, ah, climax in the next chapter. I needed to split this out, else the next chapter would be too darned long!

Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they belong to the Tolkien estate, New Line Cinema, yada, yada, yada. If I could own Frodo, I would, though ;) I'd take him home, and feed him, and pet him, and name him George.]

Summer was well on its way, when I next saw Frodo Baggins. In the three months since he had visited my shop, I'd seen neither hide nor hair of him, and I told myself that I was relieved. I had, though, had a chance meeting with his uncle in Bywater in mid-May. At the time, I was strolling down the main throroughfare of the town, when Bilbo walked out of the tailoring shop, and upon seeing me, hurried over.

"Mistress Brockhouse, a pleasure to see you again," he enthused, as he pumped my hand up and down. "I do hope the remuneration for your visit to Bag End was adequate?"

I beamed at the older Hobbit. "More than adequate, Mr. Baggins, for both my initial care for Frodo, and his later visit to the shop."

Bilbo cocked his head, brows drawn together questioningly. "Later visit?" he asked.

"Why, yes, he came to the apothecary a few weeks later for a clean bill of health." 

"Did he? Did he now?" Bilbo looked amused for some reason.

"He said it was at your behest," I said in concern. Could his memory be failing him? It wasn't an uncommon ailment among older Hobbits.

"Yes, of course." He smiled pleasantly. "A most decided pleasure to see you again, my dear. I do hope to see you again soon." And with a cheery wave, he went on his way. I shook my head, and thought nothing more of it at the time. 

In the time since then, I had spent a few afternoons of every week wandering the nearby woods and fields surrounding Bywater and Hobbiton, gathering the various herbs and plants that I used to make my medicines. One afternoon in mid-July, I was in a small clearing within a small copse that lay between the two towns. The East-West road was nearby, although completely out of site, hidden by a small hill. As always, I had brought a small blanket to spread my skirts on while kneeling or sitting, and at the moment, I was surrounded by a veritable sea of dandelions. I would paw through each patch, looking for the oldest, fullest plants, and carefully dig them up by their roots. I was quite engrossed in the task, humming softly under my breath, when I heard a voice behind me.

"Hello."

I started in surprise, and looked to find Frodo leaning against a nearby tree, watching me with a slight smile curving his lips. I found myself flustered by his sudden appearance and unsure of what to say, although I managed a strangled greeting in return.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

I pointed with my digging tool towards the flowers. "I'm digging up dandelion roots."

He approached and knelt beside me. "I know where there's fields full of them, and some farmers that would greatly appreciate their absence."

I laughed. "I need more mature plants, that have been around for a couple of years. Most farmers aren't interested in letting them sit in their fields for that long."

Frodo grinned back at me. "Would you like some help?"

I blinked in surprise, and then nodded agreeably. "As you like. I have an extra digging tool." I pulled the extra trowel from my carrying sack, and handed it to him. "Now, you want to look for older plants, because their roots will be bigger and more useful. You can usually tell which ones are older, because they've got thicker stems, and are less forked. Dig your trowel in, just so, and you can usually get the entire root out without splitting it."

He watched me for a few minutes, and then gave it a try himself. His first few attempts went ill, but he quickly got the knack of it, and we soon settled into a companionable silence. The day was warm, and the sound of birds singing in the trees could be heard, along with the buzz of insects and the occasional sound of someone passing along the nearby road.

After a while, Frodo stretched, looking about him and recited softly:

_"The leaves were long, the grass was green,  
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,  
And in the glade a light was seen   
Of stars in shadow shimmering."_

"Well," he laughed, "the leaves are long, and the grass is green, but I don't see any hemlock about, nor any stars."

"That was lovely," I commented. "What is it from?"

He shrugged. "I'm not certain. Something that Bilbo is translating from Elvish in his spare time. That's the only piece of that lay that he's shared with me so far."

"Do you know any others?"

Frodo laughed. "Far too many. Would you like to hear another?"

"Oh, yes, please." I had a great love for poetry and tales, as many Hobbits do, although the local variety tended to be fairly limited in scope and content. 

He rocked back on his laurels, and thought for a moment as I bent back to the task at hand, and then clearing his throat, began to recite:

_"West of the Moon, East of the Sun  
There stands a lonely Hill  
Its feet are in the pale green Sea..."**_

I sighed dreamily when he finished. "Beautiful. I especially liked the part '_With their moonlit pebbled strandWhose foam is silver music..._' Do you think there really is such a place?"

He nodded. "Although neither of us are likely to see it. Only the Elves may travel there now, on great ships from the Grey Havens."

"Mmm, I should dearly love to meet some Elves." I stretched, arching my back and trying to work the kinks out from being hunched over for so long. "Well, I've enough dandelions for today." I stood up, folding my blanket neatly, and stowed it in my carrying sack, which I hefted onto my shoulder. "I thank you for the pleasure of your company today, and for the poetry. It certainly made the task all the easier." Beaming happily at him, I turned to go.

"Are you going to be gathering anything else around here soon?" I looked back at him in surprise, and he pinkened slightly. "I mean, I enjoyed this afternoon as well, and should like to help you some more. If you'd like."

I paused, thinking for a moment. "Well - there's some water plantain that I had intended to harvest three days hence, over that way." I pointed further into the trees. "I'll be by the stream in the afternoon, should you want to look for me." 

"I'll be there."

[** From the "Lay of Earendel", Lays of Beleriand]  



	4. Summer Heat

**Chapter Four: Summer Heat **

[Warning: purple prose alert. Yeah, there's a sex scene in this chapter (it's time to divest Frodo of some innocence, woo-hoo!), and it's written like a romance novel, gentle euphemisms and all. I personally don't find hard-core terms sexy, or appropriate for this setting.

Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they belong to the Tolkien estate, New Line Cinema, yada, yada, yada. If I could own Frodo, I would, though ;) Oh yes. He'd be my precious :)]

When the day came, I told myself that he surely wouldn't come, would have better things to do. But on the afternoon in question, I picked my way through the underbrush approaching the stream, and found Frodo sitting under a tree, engrossed in a book.

"Mr. Baggins," I said, my voice revealing my pleasure at seeing him. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

He jumped to his feet. "Frodo," he said. I blinked in confusion. "Call me Frodo," he continued, "and no, I haven't been waiting long, and even if I had, it wouldn't matter. It's a gorgeous day, perfect for reading in such beautiful environs."

"May I?" I asked, holding out my hands. He placed the book carefully in them, and I opened it to the title page. "Lay of the Children of Hurin," I read aloud.

"I thought I might read some of it to you, while you worked," he offered.

I laughed in delight. "That's very thoughtful of you, and I should love to have you do so." I handed the book back to him, and our fingers touched momentarily, sending a frisson of pleasure through me. I pulled my shaking hand away, and busied myself with rummaging through my carry sack. Why did he affect me so? And could he see it? 

Not meeting his eyes, I began to walk carefully along the streambank, until I found a thick growth of water plantains. I knelt, spreading my skirts about me, and Frodo flopped down before an adjacent tree. He raised his brows questioningly, and at my nod, began to read.

The afternoon wore on, and I found myself gathering far more plantains than I needed, drifting in the pleasure of hearing his cultured voice recounting the tale of Túrin and Beleg. I finally shook myself, and brushed my hands together, wiping off smudges of dirt and bits of green from my fingers. 

"Had enough?" he said, looking up at me from where he lay, propped against the root of the nearby tree. 

"Yes, I'd better get these back home, and stored properly. I enjoyed this; thank you, Mr. Bag-, I mean, Frodo," I finished hastily. 

He grinned at me, and then raising his eyebrows, asked, "Will I see you soon, Lily?"

I felt my knees go weak to hear him speak my name, but covered it well, brushing my hair back from my cheeks, and looking up towards the blazing sun as if to gauge its heat against my face. Mentally shuffling through what herbs and flowers needed to be gathered at this time of year and were available nearby, I told him where I would be in two days, and we parted ways.

Thus began a soon cherished tradition, in which we would meet in the afternoon and I would harvest what I needed, while he read or told tales, and even on rare occasions, sang. We grew comfortable with each other, discussing all manner of things, wondering about the world outside the Shire and the people inhabiting it. I learned a great deal about Frodo's friends and studies with Bilbo, and he in turn, would ask questions about my collecting and medicinal practices. I had never met a young Hobbit so knowledgeable in so many things, and interested in hearing my own thoughts on matters, uninformed as they might be.

One warm, sunny afternoon, I was clipping the yellow flowers of a patch of goatweed, my cutting shears happily snipping through the tender stalks. Frodo lay on his stomach nearby, feet dangling in the air, plucking pieces of grass absently and arranging them in piles and patterns before him. We were on the edge of a sunny meadow, in the shade of a spreading oak tree near the pleasant stream that ran through these woods.

"What made you decide to become a healer?" he asked.

I swatted at a gnat that kept hovering near my face, and replied, "I went to live with my Aunt Camellia at a very early age, and she taught me all about it. Eventually, it just made sense that I should continue on with it, especially after she died."

"You lived with your aunt?" he sounded surprised to hear that I had had a similar upbringing to his.

"Yes." I was silent for a moment, reflecting on the past. "My parents had many children, too many, and to make space in our home, I was sent to Aunt Camellia's for most of my childhood." This was a common arrangement among large Hobbit families that had outlying family members, and one family could have several cousins living together in one burrow.

"I'd have liked to have had some brothers or sisters," he said a little sadly. "Do you see your family very often?"

"I see some of my brothers and sisters quite a bit. Many of them live nearby." 

"And your parents?"

I stilled briefly. "They live in Michel Delving, and I don't have much chance of getting over there."

Frodo glanced sidelong at me, and then picked at a piece of clover before him. "What's the real reason you don't see them?" I stiffened, and he apologized immediately. "That was impertinent, wasn't it?"

"Yes." I stared at the flowers before me, unseeing. "Truth be told, we had a bit of a falling out years ago. When I was in my late tweens, they decided that my aunt was a bad influence on me, and brought me back home. I wasnot happy about that."

"Oh."

"And then I got married, too early in life, to be honest, to a man that they thought wasn't suitable for me, and that made the gap between us even wider. That breach between us has never fully healed, I'm afraid." I picked up my shears again, and began cutting more goatweed heads.

"What was your husband like?" Frodo asked curiously.

I paused, thinking back to what seemed like another life. "Kind. Quiet. Hard-working. He was a farmer, a good twenty-five years older than me, and I think I must have seemed very youthful and silly to him at times."

"Did you love him?"

I glanced reprovingly over at him. "Now that was an impertinent question, don't you think?"

"Yes." He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are you going to answer it?"

I huffed out a deep breath, and turned away. The silence stretched between us, until finally I said, "Yes, I loved him. He was a kind Hobbit, that gave me a comfortable home, and a pleasant life, as far as he was able." 

Frodo rolled onto his knees. "And that's it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just" he paused, and flushed under my questioning gaze. "You deserve so much more."

I shook my head, and looked away. "Part of being an adult is learning that dreams and reality rarely mix. I put any girlish fantasies away the day I left home for good."

I could sense him looking at me sadly. "What happened, I wonder," he said softly, "to make you content with so little?"

"I never said I was content," I whispered fiercely, staring at the stream in the near distance, feeling my eyes itching with unwanted tears. 

We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, until he cleared his throat. "Do you know what I think?" He leaned forward until he was quite near, and I looked over at him in surprise. "I think you need a little more fun and laughter." He snatched the shears from the blanket beside me, eyes dancing merrily. "And a lot less work." Raising his brows in challenge, he jumped to his feet, and dashed away.

"Hey!" I cried in surprise. "Give those back," and raced after him. Frodo led me on a mad chase through the meadow, laughing the whole while in that high-pitched chortle of his, while I ran breathlessly after him. He dashed into the midst of some trees on the far edge, and I caught up with him as he tried to dodge behind a large birch. He chuckled, and held the scissors above my head, while I tried to grab them, muttering mock-deprecations under my breath and laughing in turn. I finally grasped his wrist, and pulling his arm down, plucked the shears from his grasp. 

"Oh-ho," he teased, "you think you're clever now." Still laughing, he suddenly seized me by the upper arms, and swung me about, capturing me against the tree. We both froze as our bodies suddenly came in contact, and my breath caught, no longer in laughter, but in surprise at the sudden rush of pleasure running through my veins. 

Frodo looked down at me, his gaze open and full of feeling, and then moved his head forward, bringing his lips gently against mine while his eyes fluttered shut. His kiss was soft at first, shy and uncertain, ready to pull back immediately should I protest, but almost instantly, it was as if a fire leapt between us, and we pressed tightly against each other with a gasp. The shears fell forgotten from my fingers as my arms raised as if of their own volition, to tangle in his long dark hair, while he kissed me deeply, longingly. 

I wrenched myself away suddenly, and raised a shaking hand to my lips, still breathing heavily. "We shouldn't be doing this," I whispered urgently.

"Why?"

I blinked at him in surprise. "WellI'm ten years older than you!"

"And?"

"Wouldn't you rather be spending time with girls closer to your age?" I asked miserably.

"My dear Lily," he chuckled. "If I wanted that, don't you think I'd be doing it?" He stooped, picking up the shears, and placed them into my hand. "Ten years isn't that much of a difference, and if I think nothing of it, why should you?" He grasped my free hand in his own, and began to walk towards the meadow. 

"Do you know," he began conversationally, "I've thought of nothing but you for months now."

I struggled to think rationally, to make sense of what had just happened. "It's because I nursed you that one night. Patients often have strong emotions for their healers."

He laughed aloud at that. "And they continue to feel that way, several months later? I think not." I had no answer to that, and he continued on, saying, "I even made up an excuse to come visit you that one time in your shop, because I so desperately wanted to see you again." Ah, that made my meeting with Bilbo make all the more sense - no wonder he had sounded confused at my mentioning Frodo's visit to the apothecary!

Frodo glanced over at me, looking rather glum. "You seemed angry with me that day, and I thought for sure that I hadn't a chanceso I tried to stay away. But the summer crept on, and I found myself seeking out the places where you might be, in the hopes that I might see you again. I never realized how many different spots there must be that you stop to gather herbs," he grinned. "It was sheer dumb luck that I happened upon you a couple of weeks ago." He stopped beside the blanket under the oak tree, and turned to stand in front of me. "But I'm glad that I did. Dare I hope that you're glad as well?" He slid a hand under my chin, and forced me to look up at him.

I breathed in uncertainly, looking into his hopeful eyes, and then threw caution to the wind. "Oh yes," I whispered, "but-"

"Do you know what I think?" Frodo interrupted seriously, grabbing the shears from my hand, and tossing them into my nearby carry sack. He leaned forward then, his face but inches from my own. "You worry too much." And he kissed me again, no hesitation in him this time, and I felt my knees go weak as his lips and tongue lovingly explored my own. Slowly, we sank down onto the blanket, kissing more and more urgently, until he suddenly pulled back, and looked at me earnestly.

"I should tell you," he said, looking chagrined. "I, ah, have never really" 

I stopped him from explaining further by leaning in and kissing him. "And it's been rather a while for me," I murmured against his lips.

Frodo grinned, blue eyes dancing. "I expect we'll figure it out." He paused then, looking at me in concern. "Are you certain, though? I don't want to rush you-" I stopped him again with another kiss that silenced all questions and doubts.  


[And that's all you get to read, here on ff.net. This story has now taken a decided adult turn (i.e. NC-17), and since ff.net doesn't have the cojones to allow that kind of story anymore, if you'd like to read the rest of this, you'll have to read it at Open Scrolls (do a search on google.com for "Open Scrolls Archive") I'm under the same username there. It's only just begun, folks :) ]


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